


a la mode

by kousagi101



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kousagi101/pseuds/kousagi101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Buchanan Barnes was the military’s best sniper and the sergeant of an elite unit.</p>
<p>Bucky Barnes just wants his pants to fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James Buchanan Barnes was the military’s best sniper and the sergeant of an elite unit.

Bucky Barnes just wants his pants to fit.

 

It was a typical day, at least for Bucky. He started it during the early hours of the morning per usual, today he had slept in until 3:34 before he woke up. From there, he watched old television reruns, usually it’s I Love Lucy or Little House On The Prairie, until the sun rose. At seven, he gets up and takes a brief shower and gets dressed. Precisely at 7:15, he leaves his house to the Starbucks across the street and orders an iced frappuccino and a muffin, leaving just before the eight o’clock rush. The barista, Julie, smiles at him, as she has for the past year, and tells him to have a nice day.

At 8:30, he goes to his support group, led by Sam Wilson, a USAF Pararescue veteran and the kindest man he knows, and sits in silence as the people around him open up with their sob stories. He’s thinking about what he wants to do with the hour he has after this meeting before his physical therapy check-in when he is interrupted by his thoughts. “-do you have anything to add James?” Sam asks, his eyes calm and welcoming. Bucky shakes his head, trying to avoid the stares from the other people in the room, and slumps further into his seat as he tunes out the man beside him that starts to talk about losing one of his squad members. Everyone shifts their attention to the man talking, and Bucky lets his mind wander.

 _“Barnes” a gruff voice shouts over the comm, “We’re losing momentum, you have to go now or we’ll risk losing the lead.” Bucky was propped up on a roof, peeking through a minuscule viewfinder at his target, a man not much older than himself standing in a room. “I just need another second to line up the shot.” He mutters, to himself more than the men on the comm. As he makes the final adjustments, he pulls the trigger and effortlessly kills his target. On his headset, Bucky can hear his unit cheering._ _As he starts to put away his equipment he feels a sharp blow to the head and everything goes black_.

As the meeting ends, Bucky is the first one to get up and he makes a beeline for the door. He sees Sam looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and also disappointment, Bucky shrugs off the look and leaves before he can change his mind. He grabs a hot dog from Matt the vendor outside the building and is walking away when his phone rings, it’s his mother and he hates these phone calls. “Hi Ma,” he says, his mouth full of relish and ketchup.

“James,” she says, “how are you dear?”

Bucky walks toward the park, “M’fine, how’re you?”

He hears her sighing on the other line, “Oh we’re fine, your father won the golf tournament at the club last weekend, the ladies and I finished that quilt we were working on.”

Bucky hums in response as he plops down on an isolated bench. “That sounds nice.”

“But James your father and I have been talking…” She continues, hesitant, “we really think that maybe you should see someone or talk to someone about, your time back.”

Bucky tenses, “Ma, you know I go to group therapy.”

“Yes, but maybe one-on-one, someone you can talk to about your personal life.” She pauses, “it’s just, you’ve been back nearly three years now, and you’ve changed so much honey, we’re worried about you, it’s hard losing so much time, and with the arm and everything, we just think you’d do better seeing someone to talk about it”

He snorts, “I take care of myself fine, and aren’t people supposed to change as they get older?”

Another pause, “yes of course dear, but the last time your father and I saw you it was like you were a whole new person, what with the hair and the added weigh-“

He cuts her off before she can say it, “Fine I’ll join a gym and get a haircut, will that make you happy?”

“Your father has the business card for someone he thinks will really be a great therapist to talk to honey, please give it a chance.” His mother pleads.

He hangs up without giving her an answer. Running his hands through his hair, he contemplates his options, choosing to instead finish the hot dog and giving it little thought.

At physical therapy, Tony, his physical therapist, readjusts a couple kinks in his prosthetic arm, although prosthetic may not be an appropriate definition. The arm was metal, and functioned like a normal arm, with some kinks here and there. Bucky had been with Tony since he’d returned, and sat through his bad jokes and puns in silence.

“So, you seem especially brooding today.” Tony says, as he tweaks a wire in the arm.

Bucky shrugs, as he does usually. He doesn’t like small talk. Tony looks at him before returning to his work, a couple minutes later, Bucky feels a pinch, he glares at Tony. Tony raises his hands in exasperation.

The rest of the hour goes by, near the end, Bucky is gathering his things while Tony reads back his evaluation for the day.

“So, everything looks fine, anything bothering you with the arm?”

Bucky thinks a moment, “It’s kind of getting heavier.” He says, “To carry around, I get a sore shoulder from it now.”

Tony makes a thoughtful noise, and looks through his notes a moment, “Well, seeing as the metal is made out of titanium, a lighter metal, it shouldn’t be heavier than normal. The only thing I can suggest is building up muscle to make the job of supporting the arm easier.”

Bucky inwardly grinds his teeth and nods. “See you next week.” He says, not bothering to hear what Tony says back.

 _He woke up in darkness. There was some conversation between two men, but Bucky couldn’t understand the language. The next thing that hit him was the pain. Everywhere ached, especially his head. He groaned involuntarily and saw the men coming toward him. They strapped him into a chair and he saw a needle go into his left arm and suddenly he felt like he was on fire._  

.

As it turns out, there was a small gym a block away from his flat. And keeping true to his word, Bucky joins. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed his clothes getting tighter and the gradual loss of definition and muscle tone, he was just avoiding dealing with it, the same way he had been avoiding all of his problems.

In this very moment, Bucky was cursing himself for avoiding it for such a long time. He was in the locker room tugging on gym shorts that were a tad tight. His shirt was off, and the movements of pulling up the shorts caused his stomach to jiggle. He was so enraptured by his efforts that he failed to notice the other man come in to the locker room. He heard a throat clear and looked up.

Standing before him was a man that could only be described as a descendant of the gods. His body was muscular and firm, his eyes a cornflower blue, and a golden head of hair. It was at this moment that Bucky realised two things. One, was that this man was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. And two, Bucky hadn’t put his shirt on yet and this Adonis of a man was staring at him.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, it seemed as if time had frozen. Bucky, stood there, his shorts halfway up, and, body on nearly full display, holding eye contact with a stranger. Had this been three years ago, Bucky would have proudly held the stare and sized up the man. Back when Bucky had been toned and muscular, and still had both arms.

It was Adonis who broke the stare. He looked away and Bucky saw a small bit of red creeping up his neck, “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone else was in here.”

Now, Bucky had the chance, he tugged up his shorts, ignoring the tightness, and pulled on his shirt as quickly as possible. “It’s fine.” He muttered, desperately not to turn red.

The man moved around Bucky, “I just need to get my stuff from the locker..” he trailed off and it took Bucky a moment to realize that he must have been blocking it.

Bucky grabbed his stuff and moved over to a bench closer to the exit, he started putting on his shoes, counting the seconds until he could leave. Unfortunately, it was at this moment that his left arm began to not respond correctly, and Bucky silently cursed himself as he was unable to tie his shoes. The man, who was still getting his stuff out of his locker turned over to look. Bucky silently prayed he wouldn’t come over.

“Hey do you need help with that?” He asked, his voice sickeningly kind. Just Bucky’s luck that this man was not only gorgeous, but also nice.

Bucky, in all his remaining pride, grabbed his things and stood up. Pushing past the man, he growled a sharp “No.” before exiting the gym. He could start tomorrow.

_They didn’t feed him much. The only food intake he had came from the liquid IV drip, although that included many other drugs he didn't care to think about. They had a routine, where every 8th hour they would come into his cell, strap him into a chair, and experiment on him. He remembered the screaming, and the pain, always the pain. He’d shut his eyes and wait for it to be over and them to throw him back into his cell. One day, the pain was particularly bad, the worse it had ever been, especially in his left arm. When he stopped screaming and Bucky opened his eyes, his left arm was gone._

Back at his apartment, Bucky ran his hand through his hair, it fell in front of his face and was longer than it had ever been. He didn’t care. He was more concerned with the fact that Adonis man was the first person who had seen him shirtless in two years, and for some reason, Bucky had never felt more vulnerable.

He was restless. And irritated. He went to the kitchen and found a pint of ice cream in the freezer. Grabbing the first spoon he saw he started eating, but stopped when caught his reflection in the mirror across the hall. All of Bucky’s pent up frustration let loose, and the pint was chucked at the mirror. Drips of ice cream slid down as Bucky looked back at his reflection. He was always tall, but his extra weight made him look shorter. He always wore black now, and his hair was long and tangled from lack of care. Bucky had never really cared about his appearance before, but then again, he never needed to. His mother’s words rang through his head again, _“it’s like you’re a whole new person.”_ Maybe he wanted to be a new person, because he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to get his old life back, not with a missing left arm and PTSD that wakes him up at three o’clock every morning.

As he cleaned up the ice cream that was starting to drip into the carpet, he also thought back to Tony and Sam, their concerned looks and tiptoeing around the obvious facts. _They’re all so damned worried about me all the time,_ He thought bitterly as he wiped down the mirror, _maybe if I look better they’ll get off my case._ He threw away the crushed pint, as well as the remaining five he had in the freezer.

_He doesn’t remember how he got out, or how long he was there. Later, someone would tell him that he was held for eight months. He remembered waking up at the hospital and seeing his mother crying over him, he remembered hearing about his unit had all been gunned down in rescue missions to retrieve him. He didn't tell them that it was him that had killed them._

“I’d like to get a membership.” Bucky said to the bored looking receptionist at the gym.

She looked at him bored, “Alright sir, what type of membership will that be?” She drawled on about the different types of memberships. Three years ago, Bucky could have made her blush with a smile, now, she looked like she just wanted to get back to her game of candy crush. “I was also wondering if I could get a couple sessions with a personal trainer?” He asked, ignoring the embarrassment of admitting it.

James Buchanan Barnes would have never needed a personal trainer.

“Alright, we have two levels of trainers, those for newcomers and those for the more experienced gym goer.” She looked him up and down, “I’ll book you with Steve.”

“Who am I being booked with?” A painstakingly familiar voice said from behind Bucky.

He turned and saw Adonis, holding a pile of sweat rags. He saw the recognition flash in Adonis’ eyes. It had taken all he had in him not to turn on his heel and run right back out the door at that moment.

The receptionist visibly lit up, “This is James, he’s joining today and he’ll need a couple training sessions.”

Steve turned to Bucky and smiled, “Oh hey! We had a run in yesterday in the locker room.”

“That we did,” he said weakly.

“Well I can’t wait to work with you, maybe I can get your schedule and we’ll set up an initial meeting time?” Steve said

They set up a time for the following day, and Bucky left the gym, without working out, because really who had the energy for that after realizing that your personal trainer was Steven Grant Rogers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am worthless slime and I apologize for lack of updates, summer classes are hard and also I'm a lump.

Needless to say, Bucky spent more time than necessary trying to look put together for his first session with Steve. He bought baggier shorts, and the t-shirt he chose to wear only hugged his middle slightly.He tried pulling his hair into a ponytail, that sort of worked, but it also highlighted how round his face was. He huffed in annoyance and pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes again. 

Steve was nice, so sickeningly nice. Steve lit up the moment James walked into the gym, It wasn’t fair for someone so attractive to be so nice. He was waiting for Bucky near the desk again and had exclaimed a bubbly “Hey James! Are you ready to begin?”

With the way Steve had said it, you would have thought they were about to climb Mount Everest. Bucky nodded wordlessly and let Steve take him through the gym. As Steve was showing him the various machines, Bucky’s mind started to wander. He didn’t realize how blue Steve’s eyes were, the prettiest shade of a cornflower blue he’d ever seen. He was so lost thinking about them he didn’t realize Steve had said something and was now looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

Steve chuckled, “Sorry if I’m going to fast, feel free to ask me to repeat anything if you need me to.”  He got up and took Bucky over to the locker rooms again, “we’re going to weigh you now, did you have a goal weight in mind?”

Bucky nearly stopped walking. He hadn’t thought about that, but in reality, there really wasn’t a way around it. “Probably 40 pounds less than I am now” He said, glaring down at his stomach.

He noticed that Steve’s smile fell ever so slightly, ‘ _he probably thinks I should lose more’_ Bucky thought, but the smile had returned as quickly as it fell.

“Well that’s a high number, and don’t forget muscle is going to weigh more when you build it up.” Steve checked the scale. “Your current weight is 264, but that’s including the arm, so we can’t go jumping to any conclusions. From just eyeballing you, you’re BMI isn’t high”

Bucky wasn’t able to pay attention as Steve went on about muscle mass and BMI’s, his face felt hot and he could see red as Steve’s initial words sunk in. All he could feel was. Anger at himself for getting so fat. ‘ _The moment you got caught was the moment you lost control of your body.’_ He thought bitterly. A hand fell on his shoulder and he flinched in response, turning to look at the hand’s owner.   
Steve held his hands up, “Woah sorry buddy, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to know if you wanted to start the session with a couple miles on the treadmill or perhaps something lighter?”

Bucky took that as a challenge. “Why? You don’t think I can run a couple miles with all this weight?” He asked defensively.

The only indication of surprise was the slight raise in Steve’s eyebrows, Bucky admired and envied him for being able to keep his composure. “Of course not James, I didn’t know if you preferred running to a different type of cardio, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” 

They made their way to the treadmills, and if Bucky cursed himself inwardly for choosing to run for two miles, Steve didn’t have to know. 

 

_“Now that the winter soldier has been contained, is there any hope of rehabilitation?”An unknown voice was asking._

_The asset woke up bounded in restraints. He resisted struggling, they hurt him more when he struggled. When he opened his eyes he didn’t recognise the surroundings. Had they moved locations again? He couldn’t remember anything, his mind grasped at the last thing he’d done. He recalled shooting someone. He immediately snapped his attention to the two people that were talking in front of him, one of them had noticed him waking up._

_“Hello, I’m doctor Bruce Banner. Can you tell me who you are?” He said kindly. The tone was foreign to him, or was it? The asset couldn't remember._

_His mind grasped at this information. He wasn’t being given a mission, this was weird. This was not normal. What did the man ask him? His name? Did he have a name? He remembered being called something long ago, what was it?_

_“James?” He said, more in the form of a question, the name felt foreign on his tongue._

_The doctor, Bruce, smiled, “That’s very good James.”_

_He was starting to say more but James could’t understand, and fell back into a dreamless sleep._

 

Sore. Bucky was sore _everywhere_. He had done his best to run two miles, while Steve ran on a treadmill beside him, trying to make small talk and giving words of encouragement. Bucky barely had enough energy to walk when Steve announced they were moving on to weights next. That was another battle in itself, trying to lift weights without wanting to die. He felt pathetic, lifting 10 pound dumbbells while Steve explained the different muscles that were being engaged and the bodybuilders snuck condescending glances at him.

The moment the session was over, Bucky had grabbed his stuff and left, mumbling a half hearted good-bye to Steve, eager to leave and avoid any more earnest puppy-dog looks from Steve. He hobbled home and crashed onto the couch which groaned under his weight. 

An hour later he woke up to his phone ringing, probably his mom calling to check up again. He ignored it and tried to sleep more, but his stomach was growling. He got up off the couch and went into the fridge. He had gotten ingredients for a salad, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but he could make a half decent meal from it. As he was preparing the salad, the phone rung again and he picked up, balancing it on his left shoulder while he chopped vegetables.

“Hello?” He asked tiredly.

The voice on the end was definitely not his mother, “Oh hey James, it’s Steve Rogers from Shield Gym, is this a bad time?” 

In surprise, Bucky squeezed the tomato he was holding so hard it exploded all over the kitchen. “Shit,” he swore, grabbing a dishtowel nearby. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Steve asked, chuckling under his.

“No!” Bucky said hurriedly, “No-no, you’re fine, I just..” He trailed off, searching for something that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot, “what are you calling about?” he asked, changing the topic. 

If Steve thought anything of it, he didn’t say so. “I’m just calling to set up our next session, you left so quickly I didn’t have a chance to ask.”

Bucky flushed a little, thank god Steve couldn’t see him, “Yeah sorry about that, I had an appointment.” _‘With my couch’_ he thought. 

They made plans for the next session and Bucky managed to make a salad without any more casualties. He ate it half-heartedly while watching re-runs of _Little House on The Prairie._ The sun had set and Bucky didn’t bother turning any lights on. The light from the television danced on the walls and Bucky soon fell asleep. 

 

_It had taken James the better part of a year to remember his family, even with them coming in every day, his handlers had fucked up his brain so much that it was hard to comprehend his memories. The day he remembered was raining, and his mother had come in and sat by to watch his physical therapy sessions. He’d tripped and fallen, and suddenly he was taken back to a memory._

_He had been out with his friend riding bikes, he’d fallen off his bike and the friend had run back to James’ mother. She came running out faster than anyone James had ever seen run, she was calling his name, his full name, but his friend was calling him another name, what was it?_

_“Bucky.” He said, while the physical therapist helped him up, it startled his mother, who had been knitting, “I used to be called Bucky.”_

_Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes and Bucky felt bad for causing her so much pain in the first place, but with that memory others of his family soon followed. The sudden influx of memories hurt his head but something was still missing. There was something else he was forgetting wasn’t he?_

 

_After that day, he requested only to be called James._

 

 

The second and third sessions were just as painful as the first, but by the fourth, Bucky no longer woke up feeling sore. Results were another story. Sure, Bucky knew that he wouldn’t have a six-pack overnight, but as he glumly poked at his belly while he changed, he still wished he could see some sort of change. 

At the gym, he and Steve had a system, where they ran on the treadmill together, and then Steve would have Bucky try different exercises and weight training routines to see which worked best in targeting his upper body strength.

Before the war Bucky was active and full of life, he went on dates and charmed the panties -or boxers- off of every person he met.

Now, he couldn’t even have a full conversation with Steve without coming off as a total asshole (which was actually just him trying to cover up his embarrassment and complete lack of composure around Steve). 

As he and Steve were talking after the most recent session, Steve had complimented him, noticing Bucky’s increased stamina. In return, Bucky tried to make a light joke, “yeah, maybe some of that stamina will work its way to my stomach.” He said, slapping his belly. Steve’s eyes had darkened before returning to their usual brightness, but he didn’t laugh and Bucky again blew it at the whole friendship thing. 

They said their goodbyes and Bucky trudged home with full intentions to eat another limp salad and watch re-runs of whatever was on when he bumped into Sam from the VA. 

“James! How are you?” He asked brightly, obviously still trying to coax something out of Bucky.

Maybe it was leftover endorphins that had been released, but Bucky felt something on his face which he could call a small smile, “Hey Sam, how’s it going?”

Sam, in all his experience as a therapist and keeping his calm, broke into a huge grin, perhaps caught off guard by Bucky’s willingness to answer him. “I’m meeting a friend, he works at the gym around here, you might know it-“ 

They were cut off by a familiar voice, “I didn’t know you two knew each other!” Steve exclaimed, striding over to them in impossibly long strides. Bucky was glad it was already cold outside so that he could blame the redness in his cheeks on that if anyone asked. Steve was dressed in non-gym clothes and they were even better than the tight t-shirts and gym shorts. He was in a blue button down that matched his eyes and casual jeans, that clung just tight enough but left some things to the imagination. A honey brown leather jacket tied it together. 

Sam clapped Steve on the back, “Steve my man, you know James? I see him around the VA.” Bucky was grateful that Sam avoided saying that Bucky was in his group.

Steve smiled warmly at Bucky, “Yeah, he’s a client of mine at the gym.” He’d said it so happily that Bucky forgot to be embarrassed about the fact Steve had basically told Sam that he was Bucky’s trainer.

“How do you two know each other?” Bucky asked, trying to be polite. 

“Sam was my roommate in college and I guess he couldn’t get enough of me so he followed me to New York City.” Steve laughed, punching Sam lightly in the arm. As Sam went to rub his arm, Bucky noticed a ring on his finger which was absent on Steve’s, he tried to ignore how relieved he felt.

“Which college?” He asked

“Duke.” They answered in unison

“Oh cool,” Bucky said, this was one of the longer conversations he had kept in a while, it felt weird, “I went there too, before I was deployed, I think…actually I-“ It hit him at that moment, “I can’t remember.” His head hurt as he tried to grasp at this information, nothing was coming up, he flinched and brought his hand to his head. 

He was so caught up that he’d forgotten where he was until a car driving by broke his thougthts. He looked at the two concerned faces and bolted before they could say anything. 

He made it home and locked the door behind him before sliding against it. He threw the closest thing next to him -a vase- and heard it shatter. He covered his head and tried to block out the headache. He remembered a school, had it been college? Steve and Sam were friends from college. Bucky didn’t have any friends from high school or college, did he? Did he have any friends at all?

 

In all his thoughts, he remembered that as he was running away, he could have sworn Steve had yelled “Bucky.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky woke up stiff and confused. The reason for both being the fact that he had fallen asleep on the ground not two steps away from the door. He’d fallen asleep on the floor after his meltdown, no surprise that Bucky couldn’t even take care of himself like a normal human. He groaned as he got up and cracked his neck, gathering his thoughts, Bucky was instantly reminded of the day’s events. 

What a foolish thing to freak out over. No doubt Steve will want to drop him as a client, who would want someone with scrambled eggs for brains and a missing arm. Bucky huffed darkly. He was angry, but then again, he was usually angry or frustrated. 

He looked at the clock, it was four in the morning and he had a lot of pent up energy. There was no way Bucky was going to the gym today, he wouldn’t be able to bear looking Steve in the eye, not until he’d had at least another day to cool down, or hopefully forget the whole event, _‘it’s what I’m good at_ ’ he thought bitterly. He was still dressed in his workout clothes, so without thinking he grabbed his keys and left. 

Running had been a favorite pastime of Bucky’s, before he had all the extra weight, which made it considerably less enjoyable. The first mile and a half however, perhaps thanks to Steve’s workout regimen, felt good. The morning air was brisk and the only people out were street cleaners or people getting off of late shifts from the bars. Bucky didn’t very much think of anything and just let his feet keep going. He ran through F.D.R. Drive and Chinatown, and even though he knew he should have turned around, he kept going, fuelled by his bottled up rage.

He ended up running to Brooklyn. 

By the time he got there, he was breathing pretty heavily, and he had to stop near a park to catch his breath before he passed out. When he was able to breath properly, he allowed himself to survey the surroundings. The sun had begun to rise, tinting the sky a mixture of night blue and rose pink, allowing him to see the buildings around him

He knows he’s in Brooklyn, and his messed up mind remembers enough to know that he used to live here, the hell if he knew which house it was. The street lamps were turning off and Bucky saw a school across the road. A wave of familiarity hits him hard. He knows this park, and he knows that school, because he used to go there. He walks over and peers through the gate, there’s a new addition that clashes horribly with the old brick building, but most everything is the same despite that. He sees a janitor leave the school, blasting Shania Twain and humming off-key. “Hey!…Guy!” He calls, feeling like an idiot. 

The janitor looks over suspiciously and moves his hand on to his walkie talkie. Bucky realizes that he must look like a pedophile, hanging around a park in the early morning hours, wearing all black and a baseball cap, and along with that, all his extra weight makes him look a good ten years older than he really is. He tries to stand up taller as the janitor walks over cautiously. “Uh- I was just wondering if uh- is this P.S. 114? I was given directions and they said to turn right after the school” He lies lamely, trying not to look creepier than he already does. 

The janitor is squinting at him hard, and Bucky holds his breath, bracing himself for the worst. Instead. 

“Holy shit, Bucky Barnes is that you?” 

Taken by surprise, he looks up, the janitor is still looking at him, “Uh, yeah it is, do I know you?” 

The janitor, still separated by the gate, jumps back and Bucky tenses, until he realizes the guy is unlocking the gate and suddenly right next to him, clapping him on the back.

“It’s Scott Lang!” He exclaimed excitedly. 

Bucky stares at him blankly, he must know this man. He grasps at his memories for someone named Scott. 

 

_“Take a look at my ant farm guys.” An overexcited eight year old Scott says as he sits down next to Bucky and his friend at recess. He peers in and sees red ants crawling around everywhere in neat lines._

 

_“Cool” Bucky says, smiling, his two front teeth are missing and only the slightest bit of white is showing from the new ones growing in._

 

_He and his friend had been playing Connect Four, because his friend wasn’t allowed to overexert himself physically. As his friend reached for the next red chip for his turn, he knocked over the ant farm and it was chaos. Ants were everywhere and Scott was screaming frantically, trying to save them._

 

Bucky smirks, “How could I forget the ant-boy?”

Scott snorts, “That’s ant- _man_ to you now,” he crosses his arms over his chest and showing off an ant tattoo on his left bicep, perhaps in an effort to look cooler.

Bucky chooses not to say anything about how stupid that sounds, “So how’s it been?”

Scott gives him an _‘are you shitting me’_ look. “I’ve been in jail the past two years, my wife has full custody of my daughter, and I’m a janitor at my old middle school. So it could be better. But I find all this crazy shit in student’s lockers all the time so it’s pretty cool…”

Bucky doesn’t know how to react, Scott’s tone is sarcastic but he knows enough pain himself to know that Scott has suffered. Bucky doesn’t know or remember Scott well enough to be able to comfort him in any way that would help, so he does the next best thing and takes off his gloves.

Scott, who had continued rambling on about all the illegal drugs he’d found in the lockers- these were middle schoolers right?- looked down, and back up at Bucky, and then back down again. “Oh cool that’s a metal hand, but actually the worst stuff comes from the teacher’s desks, you would not believe what I’ve found in those things.”

Bucky doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed, but the chuckle that Scott has managed to get from him is the closest thing he’s had. He claps Scott on the back, “Pal you are one funny little ant-guy.”

“Ant- _man_.” Scott retorts. 

They make a little more small talk before Scott looks at his watch and over animatedly says “Oh man! I’m late, but this was cool, you’re cool, we should get coffee or something right? Is that what guy friends do?” He’s talking fast and it’s enough to make Bucky smile again. 

“Sure lemme have your number.” Bucky says, reaching for his phone in his pocket, and then stopping because it isn’t there. He curses, he left it at home in his whirlwind mad dash. 

Scott has his though, and Bucky can still remember his own phone number well enough to give it to Scott, who is thoroughly impressed. As Bucky jogs off, trying to keep up the appearance of being healthy, he hears Scott call something, but he’s too far so it’s muffled. “What?” He yells back. 

“Are you still friends with Roger?” Scott yells from the very sketchy looking van that picked him up. They drive away before Bucky can answer. 

That leaves him confused, _‘Do I know a Roger?’_ he can’t remember, he’ll ask his mom later. It’s around seven in the morning now and the streets are starting to pick up. His legs are starting to stiffen again from the lack of stretching he did. Then it hits him again, he’s in Brooklyn with no phone or wallet and his flat is on the Lower East Side. 

 

“Well fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering rewriting the first couple chapters, stay tuned for that excitement.


End file.
